Diabolical Intentions
by girl-inspired
Summary: The fifth and final book in the Tweedle-Tay Saga. Skipper and Fergie return to Tulsa to exact their final revenge on Tweedle-Tay and Michaela, through their own children Taylor and Michelle. How will the family curse be overcome?
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
Once upon a time there was a family who lived in a little town called Tulsa, Oklahoma. The family were renowned for many things, not least of which was the increasing beauty, talent and intelligence of each successive generation. When we last left them, our friends Tweedle-Tay and Michaela Manson had realised that sometimes love was the most important thing to them, more important than, as Michaela put it, "some lame attempt to be normal".  
They returned to that creepy house at Stoneybrook Crescent, where they cared for their brothers and sisters and pretended they were not related. They went off to college, Tweedle-Tay attending the Oral Roberts University and Michaela doing a correspondance law degree through Harvard. Things were hard, even with their extensive fortunes, as it's difficult to cage a cosmopolitan girl in a small town.  
But Tweedle-Tay and Michaela somehow managed to live happily, Tweedle- Tay as an architect and Michaela as a lawyer... although it was hard for their careers to progress within the confines of Tulsa.  
Grubbery, not tied down with having to look after all those younger siblings, had greater success. He actually got to *attend* university, Yale in fact, achieving phD's in Mathematics, English Literature, and Sociology. He had written several novels and had regular columns in the New York Times and the Washington Post. Although he was not yet thirty- five, Grubbery was considered one of the greatest American thinkers of the early 21st Century.  
Meanwhile, Tweedle-Tay and Michaela were considered the picture of marital bliss. After all, no one knew they were twins, not even their twenty-two year old sister Mozzie. They lived in a nice enough (if cursed) house and had fabulously pretty eleven year old twins, Taylor and Michelle. As said before, Taylor and Michelle were even more gorgeous than their parents, and we mustn't forget that Michaela was "the prettiest girl in the eleventh grade" and Tweedle-Tay was... well, he was Tweedle-Tay. Need we say more?  
Yes, everything was going well for our Manson friends. They'd put the memories of their parents, comas, time in the attic... behind them (almost) and they'd gotten on with their lives. Sound familiar? It should. As it's familiar, I guess it's a little predictable that they wouldn't be happy forever. 


	2. A service station in Illinois

Chapter 1  
September 21st, 2020 - Mulberry Grove, Illinois  
  
"That'll be $18.75," the bored teenage girl sitting behind the cash register at the service station said.  
"Thanks dear," a frail looking blond woman in her mid-sixties replied, handing the girl a twenty dollar bill. "Do you know anywhere we could buy lunch around here?" she added, looking back at her husband who was sitting in their beat-up, twenty-five year old car.  
The girl nodded. "Sure. We actually work as a restaurant on the side."  
The woman looked surprised. "How charming...." she said. "How charmingly quaint." She called to her husband through the window. "Skipper! We can eat in here!"  
Her husband, also very frail and in his mid-sixties, climbed out of the car and made his way into the service station.  
"This place works as a restaurant on the side," the woman said happily. "Isn't that sweet... just like old times."  
  
The man nodded. "It's lovely dear." He turned to the girl, who was staring at her nails. "We've been looking for places like this everywhere, but they all seem to have disappeared."  
The girl tried to stop herself from yawning. "I've never seen another one since I was a little girl," she said, humouring the old people. "What do you want? We have meat pies, sausage rolls, burgers...." She gestured to the small heating cabinet behind her. The old people looked at the cabinet with interest. Weirdos. "So, are you traveling?" she asked. Anything to make this boring day go faster.  
The woman nodded. "Yes... I think I'll have a burger. It's been so long since I've had one."  
"I'll have a sausage roll," the man said.  
The girl nodded and picked up her tongs. "Where are you going?" she asked, pulling the sausage roll and soggy burger from the cabinet and putting them into paper bags.  
"We're going to see our children," the woman said. "It's been so long since we've seen them." That was true. They'd actually been released from jail four and a half months later than they'd supposed to be released, because of an article Grubbery had written about child abusers begin let off too easily.  
"In Oklahoma," the man added. While they certainly weren't pleased with Grubbery, considering the article he'd written, they still reserved their largest amount of hate for Tweedle-Tay and Michaela. They knew Tweedle-Tay well enough to know that he wouldn't leave his brothers and sisters and probably wouldn't leave the house, and while Michaela *was* a problem... They'd done their research and knew that the twins were carrying on that great Manson family tradition.  
"How nice," the girl replied. "$4.80 please," she added, holding out her hand.  
The man handed her a five dollar bill. "Keep the change," he said generously, turning to leave with his wife.  
The girl rolled her eyes. Twenty lousy cents. You couldn't even buy a jelly baby with that. "Thanks," she said anyway. "Have fun seeing your children."  
The man turned around and smiled eerily. "Oh, we will. You can be sure of that." 


	3. Michelle's Story

Chapter 2 - Michelle's Story  
September 21st, 2020 - Tulsa, Oklahoma  
  
"So, I told Sabrina Bouvier that no, I would not go to her make-out party on Friday night and that sixth grade boys suck ass," I told my brother Taylor, enthusiastically spinning around as we walked out of Kelsey Middle School.  
"Good for you," he replied, not nearly so enthusiastic.  
"You should be glad you weren't invited," I told him. "Can you believe she wanted me to be," I shuddered, "Partners with Jeff Atkinson? I mean, he has spinach caught in his teeth every time I see him in Science and -"  
"Actually," Taylor cut in as we jumped over the gate. "Sabrina did invite me."  
I stopped dead in my tracks. "She did?"  
Taylor shrugged. "Yeah. She didn't tell me it was a make-out party though... I said I would go."  
I laughed. "Well, she's going to be surprised when you tell her you're not going. What are you going say?"  
Taylor looked nervous. "I'll just go along, I guess. Don't go causing a fuss, Michelle."  
"It's okay. I don't mind. I'll tell her where to go, tomorrow," I replied.  
Taylor smiled. "You do that, Michelle."  
I winced. "But please! Jeff Atkinson?" I said, changing the subject. "I think it's grotty how Sabrina's always trying to set people up like that. I mean, if I wanted to be with Jeff, I think I'd tell him myself. If I wanted to be with *anyone* I'd tell them myself."  
Taylor raised his eyebrows. "I think guys generally like to do the asking."  
"Well, you tell all your friends I don't want them asking me to do anything... Speaking of which, that is so sexist! If girls want boys to ask them out so badly they should ask the boys out themselves," I protested.  
"But that's exactly what Sabrina's doing," Taylor explained.  
I thought about it for a few seconds. "Yeah... well, it's grotty anyway!" I said, running down Myrtle Street towards our house on Stoneybrook Crescent. Sabrina Bouvier *was* grotty, with her lipstick, painted on mole and tonnes of hairspray. In the sixth grade! Last year, my friends and I had all referred to her as 'the drag queen', but this year they seemed to be a little more receptive to her. Actually, this year Taylor's friends seemed to be more fun than my friends, who wanted to sit around reading Sixteen Magazine and drooling over the boy-band-of-the- moment, LipSynch.  
I ran up to our front door and unlocked it, fumbling with my keys. I walked in and left the door open for Taylor. He was such a wuss. He didn't even try to beat me to the door - I could see him slowly making his way up the street.  
As soon as I reached my bedroom I tore off the stupid plaid dress the school dress code forced me to wear and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the Fly Girls' logo on it. The were cool. Feminists, just like me.  
I heard Taylor's footsteps up the stairs and heard a knock at the door a few seconds later. I opened it. "Hey Tay!"  
"Shelle!" he said, laughing. "Do you always have to change the second you get home?"  
"Yes," I said. "The dress-code is totally sexist. There's no reason why I can't wear pants. How would you like it if you weren't allowed to wear... skirts to school?"  
"Actually Shelle," Taylor replied. "I can't wear skirts to school. But it doesn't really bother me."  
"Well," I replied. "Maybe it should. Maybe you should grow your hair long and I could cut my hair short and we can pretend to be each other."  
Taylor was aghast. "There is no way you're getting me to grow my hair!" he protested. "I'd look like such a girl!"  
"Oh, but you'd make such a *pretty* girl," I said, walking out of my bedroom and down the stairs.  
"Where are we going?" Taylor asked.  
"Down to Brenner Field," I replied. "I heard the seventh grade boys are having a baseball match down there this afternoon."  
"Really?" Taylor asked, following me. "Don't you think we should do our homework first?"  
"We can do our homework tonight, after mom and dad get home," I replied, walking out the door. "It's far better to play baseball than to watch TV."  
Taylor closed the front door behind us. "Don't you hate boys?"  
"I hate *kissing* boys Taylor," I answered him, rolling my eyes. "Kicking their asses in baseball is another thing altogether."  
"I'm sure it is... in your little sado-masochistic way," he countered.  
"Tay, you can try to confuse me by using long words and stuff, but it's not going to work. I'm just going to ignore you," I said, skipping ahead down Rosebud Avenue.  
This time he actually ran to catch up. "What *does* sado-masochistic mean?" I asked him.  
"Don't worry," he said.  
"No! I want to know!" I insisted.  
"It doesn't matter," he repeated.  
"No!" I paused. "You don't actually know, do you?"  
"Of course I know."  
"No you don't! Ha! You are just as dumb as I am Taylor Manson!" I ran across the road to the field where I could see the seventh graders setting up. "Hey!" I called, running over to them.  
They stopped talking and looked at me in silence. Taylor ran over. "Oh," Aaron Denver said finally, looking at us. "It's Taylor Manson and his sister Michelle."  
"Hi," Taylor said.  
"You here to lead the cheers, Michelle?" Brad Samson asked. "I think a short skirt would be more appropriate."  
I raised an eyebrow. "You must have me mixed up with Sabrina," I said. "I'm here to play baseball."  
"With us?" Aaron asked.  
"No, with Sabrina Bouvier," I replied sarcastically. "Of course with you."  
"Right," Aaron said disbelievingly.  
"Michelle's very good," Taylor put it.  
"Look Taylor," Ron Belkis said, handing him a mitt, "We're going to let you play, and believe me, that is very generous of us. Letting a sixth- grader play is bad enough, but a sixth-grade *girl*? That would be a joke."  
"Oh really? Well, why did the chewing gum cross the road?" I asked.  
Even Taylor looked at me with disbelief. "What???" he asked.  
"Because it was stuck to the chicken's fook," I replied in a Scottish accent. "*That* was a joke."  
"Albeit a bad one," Taylor muttered under his breath.  
I picked up a mitt. "Letting me play baseball is not."  
"Michelle, it wouldn't be fair to let you play -" Aaron began.  
"Well yeah. I'd kick you asses," I admitted.  
"You're not playing," Brad added.  
"If you don't let me play I'll kick your lily ass all the way to Connecticut," I said, dropping the mitt.  
"Michelle...." Taylor warned.  
They snickered. Finally Aaron said, "Look Michelle, I suppose you can play. But one thing's for sure - you're not gonna be on my team."  
"Fuck!" Brad yelled. Aaron gave him a look. "Okay," Brad said, not looking pleased at all. "But she's last up to bat."  
So we played for about an hour and, while I didn't *totally* kick their asses, I was able to hold my ground. At 4:30 Taylor told the seventh- graders we had to go home because our parents would arrive home soon. I was so embarrassed. We looked like such losers.  
  
Taylor and I to took a different route home, this time taking the back streets. It was my idea. I was feeling rather wussy so I decided to walk along Burnt Hill Road, past that house that every one was so scared of. That wasn't the type of thing that silly little sixth-grade girls who were friends with fans of LipSynch did. The house was really weird. It had been empty ever since the first time I'd seen it, and for some reason neither Taylor nor myself were aware of, no one had ever moved into it, not even for a short time. It was weird.  
But when Taylor and I walked past 16 Burnt Hill Road today, there was something even weirder about it, although, had it been any other house in all of West Tulsa, nobody would have been shocked. There was a moving van outside the house. "Oh my god!" I said, clutching at Taylor's arm. "People are actually moving into the weirdo house!"  
Taylor shook his head. "They're probably just moving in next door," he said.  
"I don't think so," I said contemptuously. We stood there and watched for a few seconds, until a couple of men walked out of the house and towards the truck. Then we quickly kept on walking. "See," I said, looking at neither Taylor nor the house - just straight ahead. "I told you people were moving in."  
"I wonder why," Taylor mused, as we turned into Myrtle Street. "They must be from out of town. Otherwise they'd never choose to live there."  
"They might even be from interstate," I continued. "They're probably poor too."  
Taylor laughed. "It's a big house, Michelle. No matter how undesirable it is, I don't think anyone would be renting it cheaply."  
"You never know," I replied as we arrived at our front door. Taylor opened it and we walked inside.  
"We'd better start on our homework," Taylor said. "Our parents will be home in about, oh, five minutes."  
I nodded regretfully and picked up my English book. We were doing a unit on ourselves and we had to make a poster about who we were as well as write some giant essay on our lives. It wasn't due for a month, but it was a lot of work. I had no idea *what* I would put on my poster, but it would be good. There was no way my poster was going to look like Taylor's, even if we were twins, and there was no way it would look like any of the other girls' in my class.  
Taylor was looking through an old book about an even older band - the Beatles or something. I picked up the latest issue of Bop and rolled my eyes. "Tay, that band is like a hundred years old! They're pretty out of date. Don't tell me you're using pictures of them for your assignment. Because if you are I think I'll have to disown you as my brother."  
Taylor frowned. "It's not my fault you don't have taste, Michelle," he said, observing my cut-outs of Fly Girls pictures. "The Beatles were geniuses. Paul McCartney is -"  
"Your hero," I finished off for him, sarcastically. "I know, and I don't care." I went back to looking for pictures of half-decent celebrities. I heard the front door open but didn't look up from my magazine. A few seconds later my Mom and Dad walked into the kitchen, returned from their work in the city centre.  
"Hey Tay, hey Shelle," Mom said, kissing us quickly on the cheek.  
"How was school? It's good to see you got into your homework quickly," Dad commented.  
"Hi Mom, hi Dad," Taylor and I said in unison. "How was work?" Taylor continued.  
"Okay. No criminal lawsuits," Mom commented. Well obviously. This was Tulsa. "You doing English?"  
Dad saw Taylor heading at the book with scissors and nearly screamed. "Don't do that Taylor!" he said. "Do you have any idea how much that book is worth? I'll photocopy it for you tomorrow if you like."  
Taylor was startled. "Okay."  
Mom looked at me and frowned. "Michelle. Stand up," she said. I did as she said and she nodded. "Just as I suspected," she said, forcing a smile. "You went out and played baseball or something, didn't you?" she asked.  
"How did you know?" I asked.  
"You changed into pants," Dad commented.  
"No, she always does that," Mom argued. "You have dirt stains on your t-shirt and grass stains on your legs." She sighed. "Why do you make us waste all this money on dresses if you whip them off and wear this grubby stuff straight after school?"  
"I don't like dresses," I replied, sitting down. I didn't say what I felt like saying, which was that not everyone liked to wear skirts eight inches above the knee, like she did. "You know that. It's only the school dress code that makes me. Besides," I added. "I don't see you getting pissy with Taylor."  
"Stand up," she instructed Taylor. He stood up and she looked him up and down. "Taylor doesn't have stains on his clothing," she replied.  
"Taylor isn't as enthusiastic a sportsman as Michelle," Dad said, smiling. I nodded smugly. "He's more a pianist," Dad continued.  
I frowned. There they went, liking Taylor more than me again. "That's probably why his team lost," I replied.  
"You know that creepy house on Burnt Hill Road?" Taylor asked, changing the subject. Mom and Dad nodded. "Well, Shelle and I were walking past it this afternoon and we saw a moving van outside."  
They seemed receptive, so I added, "It was my idea to go there."  
"Have you ever known anyone to live there?" Taylor continued.  
"No, I haven't," Mom commented, looking at Dad. "Have you?"  
"It's always been empty," he agreed. "I figured there was something wrong with the draining or something."  
"I didn't actually think they *would* rent it out," Mom added, looking a little worried. She quickly changed the subject. "Does everyone want Chinese for dinner?"  
"Yes!" I said eagerly. "Can we get prawn chips?"  
Mom smiled. "You're so urbane, Michelle. Just like your father..."  
"I want lettuce bow," Taylor said.  
Mom nodded. "Good idea. We'll get a serving for four. Is there anything special you want, Tweedle-Tay?"  
"Yeah Kay, get a peppered steak, okay?"  
"Sure," Mom said, leaning over for a pash. "Sorry," she said, turning to Taylor and I, "but this food gives you such bad breath..." She wandered off to the phone.  
Like we really needed to know that. "Hey," Dad said, "Hey you two read Uncle Grubbery's article in the Times yet?"  
We shook our heads. "What's it about?" Taylor asked eagerly. Grubbery was so cool. He was my favourite uncle - not that I disliked MacArthy, Grubbery was just cooler. Actually, he was my favourite relative. I liked him even better than I liked Taylor, because Mom and Dad didn't fawn over Grubbery.  
Dad smiled. "You'll like this one, Michelle. There are references to you in it. It's about the effect of the Fly Girls on the young feminists of today."  
"Really?" I asked excitedly. "What does he say about me?"  
"Why don't you read it for yourselves?" Dad said, passing the article to Taylor and I as we began to read eagerly. 


	4. Taylor's Story

Chapter 3 - Taylor's Story  
September 25th, 2020 - Tulsa, Oklahoma  
  
"Sorry Taylor," Michelle said regretfully, passing me the basketball. "I shouldn't have made you play on Cecile's team. She was terrible. I guess I'll take her next time."  
"That's okay Shelle," I shrugged. "It really doesn't bother me that your team won. It was just a game of basketball. Besides," I said, trying to infuriate her, "Your team had more guys on it than mine did. It's only natural that you should win."  
  
Michelle laughed. "*They* helped me win?? I don't think so. Half of those guys couldn't even get the ball into the hoop."  
"Sorry. I guess the winning was all due to you...." I replied, hiding the sarcasm.  
"Of course," she agreed, as we turned to walk down Burnt Hill Road. "Pass me the ball," she ordered. I obliged. "You see Tayles," she continued, passing the ball back to me, "If we join forces we could whip their asses."  
I passed the ball back to her. "How'd you go in the maths test?" I asked.  
Michelle looked smitten. "I got an 86. An *A*. Cool, huh? What about you?"  
I blushed, embarrassed. "Ninety-seven..." I said under my breath.  
Michelle's face visibly drooped. "Well, you'd better not tell Mom and Dad. I don't want you stealing my thunder."  
"You could always tell them about how your team won the basketball match and it was all due to *your* athletic prowess," I suggested. She rolled her eyes. "And they'd just *love* that. We're meant to be at home studying, remember?" She paused. "Move back a little Taylor. We've got to practice long shots." I did as she asked. Michelle lifted her arm and threw the ball - hard. So hard that it went flying through the air, over the fence, into the creepy house.  
"Oh shit," she said. I gave her a look. "What are we going to do now???" she moaned.  
"Go home," I suggested. "It's just a basketball. We'll ask Mom for a new one."  
"No," Michelle replied, shaking her head. "We'll go into the creepy house. It's just house," she said, nodding as if to convince herself. "Nothing can happen. People even live there now."  
"They could be psychopaths..." I teased.  
"No!" Michelle said sharply. "It's just a house!" She grabbed my hand. "C'mon Taylor, I need moral support."  
Michelle dragged me up the garden path towards the door, holding on to my hand tightly. We stood there, staring at the door. "Well," I said.  
Michelle jumped. "What?" she asked.  
"Are you going to knock?" I asked.  
She shrugged. "You can do it. I don't mind," she said quickly. She smiled wickedly. "Unless of course, you're too scared."  
I took the solid gold knocker and tapped it against the dark wooden door. "Don't you think it's unusually windy here?" Michelle asked nervously. I shook my head. "Good. I don't either," she added.  
The door creaked open to reveal an old lady at the door. She was wearing a long, pink floral dress with a matching cardigan and had long light-gray hair that came down to her waist. When she saw Michelle and I she jumped back, startled. "Oh my goodness!" she said, crossing herself.  
Michelle and I looked at each other. "Um, our basketball flew over your fence into your backyard and I was wondering if we could get it," Michelle burbled out.  
"Of course dear," the woman said, her face spreading into a smile. She extended her hand. "My name's... Felicia."  
"My name's Michelle Manson," Michelle said confidently, shaking Felicia's hand. "This is my brother Taylor..."  
"But of course," Felicia said knowingly, shaking my hand. She looked us over. "Come in... You're twins?"  
"Uh-huh," Michelle said.  
"Come," Felicia said, leading us down the hallway. "You really must meet my husband."  
Felicia took us down the hallway, twisting and turning for what seemed like ages before we finally came to the sitting room. The carpet was a deep red and the furnishings were elaborate. It was pretty, but darn creepy. Sitting in the middle of the room, on a rocking chair, was an old man. When he saw Michelle and I he stopped rocking and stared. "It's the little whore," he said, staring at Michelle in horror. "She's back. Haven't you done enough harm to this family already???" Felicia laughed nervously. "This is my husband... Skylar," she said.  
"That's a weird name," Michelle commented.  
"Our parents were hippies," Felicia replied. "Skylar dear," she continued gently, "Relax. It isn't the little whore. This is Michelle and Taylor. They're two local children who live on..."  
"Stoneybrook Crescent," I volunteered quickly, feeling as though I should say something.  
Skylar's face broke into a smile in the same way Felicia's had. He stood up from his chair and walked towards us, taking my sister and I in. "They're...."  
"Fabulously pretty, aren't they?" Felicia said excitedly, clapping her hands together.  
Skylar touched Michelle's long blonde hair. "There's - nothing wrong with them.... You don't think?"  
Felicia nodded. "What's your Mommy's name, dear?" she asked Michelle.  
"Can we get our basketball?" I asked nervously.  
"What's your mother's name?" Skylar asked, more sternly.  
"Why? Do you know her?" Michelle retorted.  
"You just remind me of... a girl I used to know," Felicia said softly to Michelle, at the same time running her hands down my back.  
"Michaela," I said, wanting her to stop.  
A look of recognition crossed of their eyes as the locked together. "No," Felicia said softly. "No, that wasn't who I was thinking of at all." She composed herself and was suddenly all smiles. "Sorry dear. Would you like a cookie?"  
"Sure!" Michelle said eagerly.  
I gave her a look. "We'd like our ball back," I said firmly.  
"Of course," Skylar said. "Felicia, would you go fetch it?"  
Felicia scurried off to collect our basketball. Skylar looked at us and smiled, but didn't say a thing. Michelle and I just stood there nervously, waiting for Felicia to return. The house seemed even creepier now. The way they'd been touching Michelle and I, like we were pretty little pieces of meat - it was weird. I wouldn't have been surprised if Felicia had returned with a cauldron and recipe for 'fillet children'.  
But she didn't return with the recipe *or* the cauldron. Only our basketball, which we accepted eagerly and began to make our way out of the house.  
As Felicia sent us out the door she took my hand and smiled. "It was lovely to see you, Taylor. Do come again."  
I nodded nervously and scurried out the door. When Michelle and I were a safe distance away from the house we looked at each other with wide eyes. "That was so... creepy!" she said. "The way they wanted to know all about Mom and the way they were touching us!" She shuddered. "What do you think we should tell Mom and Dad?"  
"Nothing!" I replied quickly. "Nothing at all. They'd kill us if they knew we'd gone into the house of a stranger so carelessly."  
Michelle nodded. "And such *weird* strangers too..." 


	5. Michaela's Story

Chapter 4 - Michaela's Story  
September 27th, 2020 - Tulsa, Oklahoma  
  
I watched wide-eyed as Michelle threw the little plastic ball at bowling pins and knocked them all over. The manager of the side show gaped as Michelle picked yet another stuffed toy from the choice behind him. "My god, that's amazing...." Tweedle-Tay whispered under his breath. "I mean, Taylor's good, but Michelle..."  
I nodded. "I know. How does she get so much strength in those bony little arms of hers?" I laughed bitterly to myself. "Oh course! From hitting us whenever we don't give her what she wants!"  
We wandered over to where Michelle and Taylor were standing, both clutching an abundance of stuffed toys, though Michelle's were considerably larger. The manager looked at us and smiled. "Your daughter has a real talent. You should get her into baseball or something," he said.  
I laughed. "Oh, we don't need to do that! She already gets herself into it, every afternoon!"  
The manager whistled. "Impressive motivation. You go girl!"  
I saw Michelle make a face, but the manager didn't. I didn't blame her. That comment was *very* 1990s. Michelle couldn't stand anything that was made prior to 2019. Fortunately for the Fly Girls, they had only been put together six months ago, so they were definitely in Michelle's favour. I looked at her, trying to encourage her to respond politely. After a few seconds Taylor said, "Thanks, she will."  
And so we wandered off, Taylor and Michelle skipping ahead and Tweedle-Tay and I walking hand-in-hand, much more slowly, behind them. We tried to keep up, but my heels kept on sinking into the grass.  
We were visiting Tulsa State Fair, one of the twins' favourite annual events in Tulsa (actually, one of the *only* things that happened in Tulsa all year), on the day that it opened. The twins liked it better that way, because there was no worry of the show bags they wanted being sold out and the side shows were still stocked full with toys. Actually, considering the way those things were rigged, they'd probably still be stocked full next Sunday, when the fair ended. Unless Michelle turned up every day.  
The twins came to a stop when they reached the Rainbow and Tweedle-Tay and I started to catch up. "You weren't like that at their age, were you?" I asked him cautiously.  
He smiled. "A little. I wasn't *quite* so extreme..... but we all know who was," he replied, looking at me knowingly. I nodded. "You probably weren't ever like that," he continued.  
"No shit," I agreed. "That's not to say I wasn't bad and irritating..."  
He nodded. "You *were* a spoilt little rich girl..."  
I pulled away slightly. "And *you* were a conceited pop star!"  
"Hey! Hey! Still am!" he protested.  
"Conceited, granted - but not a pop star!" I teased.  
Tweedle-Tay looked a little hurt. "I'm *kidding*!" I said, elevating myself so I could kiss him.  
Taylor and Michelle bounded over, Michelle grabbing at Tweedle-Tay's hand, pulling us apart. "Come on!" she hissed. "You guys are embarrassing me! What if someone sees you???"  
Taylor looked embarrassed. "No one wants to know about your... you know...."  
"And we want to go on the Rainbow," Michelle added.  
Tweedle-Tay pulled out his wallet. "Here's ten dollars, go buy the tickets," he said, handing Taylor the money.  
Michelle frowned. "Don't you have anything smaller? The tickets are $2.50."  
"Then buy four," Tweedle-Tay said, as though it was obvious.  
Michelle looked at Taylor in excitement. "Two goes each!"  
Taylor winced. "I think...."  
"We want to go on too," I said.  
Michelle made a face. "Okay...." she said, wandering off. Taylor followed. "How embarrassing..." she muttered to him.  
"Anyway, I wasn't nearly so hyperactive when I was that age," I told Tweedle-Tay, returning to our previous conversation.  
"Only at birthday parties," he replied, smiling slyly.  
We joined the twins in the queue to go on the ride. "Bags going with Taylor!" Michelle said quickly.  
'And I was just *dying* to!' I felt like saying, but I held my tongue. Looking up at the signs across the fair ground, I said, "Oh! Little Miss Tulsa!"  
Taylor's face spread into a mischievous smile. "Yeah Michelle, why don't you enter?"  
Tweedle-Tay and I nodded. "Yes, why don't you?" we asked in unison.  
Michelle was disgusted. "Because it's a stupid thing to enter! Sabrina Bouvier will probably enter!"  
"Well, yes," I agreed. "But don't you like to... kick her ass?"  
Taylor looked away. "Don't try to sound up-to-date, Mom," he mumbled.  
"I do like to kick her ass," Michelle agreed, looking at me warily. "But I wouldn't.... Sabrina will bat her eyes and swing her non-existent hips and I'll just stand there..."  
"But you are *very* pretty Michelle..." I said softly. "Prettier than I was at your age."  
Michelle looked embarrassed. "I don't think so..." she said, shaking her head. "Anyway, Taylor's prettier. Maybe he should enter...." Taylor gave her a nasty look. "Besides, even if I beat Sabrina..... Brittany Simpson will win."  
Taylor's eyes widened. "Brittany Simpson is entering???? Well then...." Taylor looked apologetic. "You probably wouldn't win."  
Michelle forced a smile. "See, even Taylor thinks Brittany would win. My own gay twin brother thinks -"  
"What???" Taylor asked, horrified.  
"Well, you *do* bring in coloured pencils to school..." Michelle said, not in the least apologetic.  
"And that makes me gay..." Taylor said sarcastically, shaking his head. "Try to think before you speak, Michelle," I said, sighing. "If Taylor were gay, that would be fine, but coloured pencils do not make someone gay."  
"Anyway, who's this Brittany Simpson?" Tweedle-Tay asked.  
"Brittany Simpson is a girl in 6R5 who all the guys fancy. You know, blonde, big eyes, developed, dancer... she makes me wanna puke," Michelle said.  
"So she's cute?" Tweedle-Tay asked Taylor.  
"Oh yeah..." Taylor replied.  
"Well I've never seen anyone prettier than you in my *life*, Michelle... except maybe Katie Holmes or Penny Pickard.... so I'd love to see this Brittany girl," I said.  
"Whatever," Michelle shrugged.  
Finally it we were able to get onto the ride. Tweedle-Tay and I squished into one seat and Michelle and Taylor got into the other. Tweedle- Tay put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder. Then the ride started to rotate and we were flung from side to side. Tweedle-Tay put his hand on my leg. I raised my eyebrows. How inappropriate. He was probably just trying to hang on so inertia wouldn't take over *too* much.  
Every time the Rainbow swung around to the top I looked out over the fair. Popcorn, fairy floss, the show bag pavilion - we'd have to go there later, rollercoasters... what was that I saw? We swung back to the bottom. A few seconds later we were up again and I looked at the familiar face more carefully. It couldn't be! Skipper wouldn't have returned to Tulsa, surely after twenty years he would have gotten on with his life. Although, being in jail, he hadn't really gotten a chance to do that. If he knew Tweedle-Tay and I were together...  
I removed my head from Tweedle-Tay's shoulder and shrugged his arm away from me. I jolted around the seat a little more, but that was fine. As we swung to the top a third time, I looked for Skipper again. He was gone. I must have been seeing things. Skipper wasn't in Tulsa and we were all safe. Yes, that was it. 


	6. Michelle's Story

Chapter 5 - Michelle's Story  
September 30th, 2020 - Tulsa, Oklahoma  
  
"Did you *see* Brittany and Sabrina today?" I asked Taylor, wincing as we walked home from school.  
"Oh yeah..." he said, smiling in a slightly sleazy way.  
"Taylor!" I snapped, glaring at him. "Don't do this to me! I would have to shoot myself if you turned into someone like Aaron Denver. I can't stand people like that... Actually, if you went like that I'd shoot *you*, not me."  
"Relax Shelle..." he said, laughing. "You know I'm not like that. I was just messing with your mind."  
"Well stop it!" I replied. "You scare me when you act like that... Why *do* guys end up like that? Have you noticed everyone's turning like that?"  
Taylor shrugged. "Adolescence? Their emerging hormones?" I groaned. "We're eleven Taylor. We don't *have* emerging hormones."  
"Some people do."  
"Well, you'd better not. Or else I won't like you," I threatened him. "I won't have them. I'll stay the way I am."  
"I'm sure you will," Taylor replied, a little sarcastically.  
"Anyway, Brittany shouldn't have worn her tiara. It made her look stupid. I wouldn't have worn it if I had won. I mean, I wouldn't even *enter* the competition, let alone advertise that I'd won it," I said.  
"Okay..." Taylor shrugged.  
"I wouldn't!" I protested.  
"Okay..." Taylor agreed, getting a little pissed off.  
"I wouldn't!" I persisted.  
Taylor sighed. He looked up at the sky and turned back to me.  
"Well?" I asked.  
"Michelle..." he said, wincing a little. "You always brag when you win things. Like whenever your team wins in sport you take all the credit, you can't stand it when I do better than you in a test... the only thing that would stop you from doing what Brittany Simpson did is the weird little notion you have in your head that it's wrong to be beautiful."  
"I don't have any weird little thingies in my head," I replied.  
"Yes you do," Taylor insisted. "It's like you think its wrong to be a girl. You're always trying to prove that you don't conform to the female stereotype. There's nothing wrong with being pretty..."  
"Well you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" I said bitterly. I couldn't believe he'd turned this into an attack on me. I wasn't conceited. And I didn't have any weird... whatever-he'd-called-thems.  
"Mom's pretty, right?" Taylor said more gently. "That doesn't mean she's not smart. You know she's very smart..."  
"You'd know better than I do. You're her favourite," I replied.  
"Shelle..." Taylor moaned.  
Taylor and I had been so busy arguing that we hadn't realised that we'd turned into Burnt Hill Road again. Great. That was all we needed. The freaks would come and talk to us again. "Just leave me alone Taylor," I said. "I know how you really feel now."  
We continued walking up the road, approaching the creepy house. "I was just trying to be... honest," he said helplessly.  
"Yeah... well go be honest with someone else," I replied.  
"Michelle! Taylor!" a voice called.  
We both turned around. That old woman, Felicia, was sitting up on her top-floor balcony working on a tapestry. "Hi!" I said cheerfully. I knew Taylor wouldn't want us to talk to her so I was determined to be as friendly as possible.  
"Hi..." Taylor said less enthusiastically.  
"How are the two of you? Aren't you playing basketball this afternoon?" she asked cheerfully.  
"No," I replied. "We're just on our way home from school."  
"Will your parents be there to greet you with an afternoon tea?" Felicia asked kindly.  
"No," I said, trying to look sad. "We have to make it ourselves."  
Taylor gave me a look. "We don't eat afternoon tea," he said. "Our parents don't want us to join the legions of people that make Americans the fattest people in the world."  
"Well there's no harm in having a treat every now and again," Felicia said warmly. "If you come inside I'll get you some lemonade and cookies and we can eat them on the balcony."  
"Oh thanks," I said. "That would be cool."  
"Well, I'll just go downstairs to let you in," she said. Felicia disappeared into the house and I began to walk down the path, towards the door.  
Taylor glared at me and grabbed my arm. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, following me anyhow. "Don't you remember what happened last time we went in there?"  
"Look Taylor," I replied. "She invited us up to eat with her. She's being extremely nice. We were obviously wrong. Unless of course... you have issues." I smiled sweetly at him.  
Taylor didn't have a chance to reply because as soon as I'd said this Felicia opened the door. "Come on in," she said, holding the door open. "That's a lovely skirt you're wearing Michelle."  
Taylor snickered. "Thank you," I said politely as we walked in. "I don't like wearing dresses though. I think it's a very sissy. I only wear them because of our school's sexist dress code."  
"Well it's very pretty," Felicia said, walking into the kitchen. "Whoever picked it out must have very good taste."  
"Our mother did," Taylor said. "She likes skirts."  
Felicia handed me a jug of lemonade and gave me a plate of sandwiches. "Would you take these?" She picked up a tray of cookies and smiled to herself. "I suppose she lives in them, am I right?" she asked Taylor.  
"Yep," he said.  
Felicia led us up the stairs and up onto the balcony. "So, what *do* you like to wear Michelle?" she asked, placing the cookies on the table. We also put our food on the table.  
"Pants..." I replied.  
"And Fly Girls T-shirts," Taylor smirked, as we sat down.  
I glared at him. "We at least I'm not stuck in the twentieth century!" I snapped. "Taylor likes the Beatles."  
"Really?" Felicia said. "So do I. When I was a young girl I went to one of their concerts. I was just about your age I think."  
"Wow, that must have been great," Taylor said enthusiastically.  
"Oh it was. I screamed my head off. I had a bit of a crush on Paul McCartney," Felicia reminisced.  
"Really???" Taylor said, nearly jumping off his chair in excitement. "He's my hero!"  
"You do music?" Felicia asked.  
Taylor nodded. "I play the piano."  
"Oh, how delightful!" Felicia replied. "Do you sing?"  
Taylor shrugged. "A little. But I prefer playing..."  
I rolled my eyes. Yet another person who preferred my brother to me. "I play the piano too, but I don't play the Beatles. I mean please! This is 2020, not 1920."  
"What grades are you up to?" Felicia asked.  
"Fifth," I said.  
"Eighth," Taylor cut in. Why did he have to beat me at *everything*?  
There was a silence. "Where's your husband?" I asked.  
"Skylar?" Felicia asked. "He's building in the garage..."  
"What's he building?" I asked.  
"A shrine," she replied. "We want to have our own little place of worship in the house."  
Taylor raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Our parents had brought us up to beware of hypocrisy in religion.  
"Do you have any children?" I asked.  
"We had lots of children," Felicia replied. "Nine in fact. But we ended up losing seven of them. Now we only have two boys, the eldest and the youngest."  
"Oh that's so sad," Taylor said. "How did you lose them?"  
Felicia's face clouded over. "I... It was awful. I don't want to talk about it."  
"How old are the ones you still have?" I asked.  
"We have Neuton, who's 40 in a couple of months, and Stanley, who's 20," she said.  
"Wow, twenty years apart..." I commented.  
"But enough about us," Felicia said. "I'm just dying with curiosity about your family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"  
I smiled. We were obviously completely wrong about Felicia and Skylar. Or Felicia, at least. I shook my head. "No, we're the only children. Our parents don't want to overpopulate the planet."  
"That's the only reason?" Felicia asked. What was she talking about? "So what about your parents?"  
"Our parents are called Tweedle-Tay and Michaela," Taylor said. "They're both 37. Mom's a lawyer and Dad's an architect."  
"So they make a lot of money?" Felicia asked.  
Taylor shrugged. "I guess so."  
"They must be goodlooking to produce the two of you," she commented. Neither Taylor nor I said anything. "So, what are they like?"  
"Parents..." I suggested. "Mom's stylish, I suppose, but she can be a bit of a... a bit sarcastic," I corrected myself.  
"But you have to admit she's witty," Taylor argued. "She's pretty nice normally. She just gets a bit stressed."  
"She says I make her hair go grey," I put in. "But it hasn't, it's just blonde..."  
"She's a little neurotic..." Taylor mused.  
"A bit of a trouble-maker?" Felicia asked.  
We shook our heads. "I wouldn't say that," I said.  
"Dad's smart, but not as smart as Mom," Taylor said. "He's more fun with us."  
"More down to earth," I agreed. "He doesn't try to confuse us."  
"Mom doesn't try to confuse us!" Taylor protested.  
"Speak for yourself, Mr IQ of 180!" I replied. "Mom doesn't confuse Taylor because he's probably smarter than she is." I paused. "Dad's cool. He taught me how to play soccer, but it's not exactly my best sport. He's funnier than Mom too..."  
"So you're parents are generally happy people?" Felicia asked.  
Taylor shrugged. "I guess so."  
"They don't experience long periods of depression?" she continued.  
"Ah... no..." I replied, shaking my head.  
Taylor looked at his watch. "Oh god Shelle!" he said.  
"Watch your language!" Felicia snapped. She smiled. "I'm sorry, I just can't stand people taking the Lord's name in vain."  
Taylor stood up. "It's 4:30pm. We have to go now. Our parents will be home soon."  
"Thanks for having us for tea," I added.  
"Yeah thanks," Taylor put in.  
"Thank *you* for coming," Felicia said. She walked us down the stair and to the door. "I hope I'll see you again soon," she said.  
"Yeah, us too," I replied.  
When we were back on the street Taylor turned to me. "Come on Shelle!" he begged me. "You can't tell me you don't think they're weird!"  
I looked him straight in the eye. "I don't," I lied. 


	7. Taylor's Story

Chapter 6 - Taylor's Story  
October 5th, 2020 - Tulsa, Oklahoma  
  
Since our last visit to the "creepy house" and our incredibly strange conversation with Felicia I'd managed to keep Michelle from taking me there again. Each afternoon, as we neared the intersection between Burnt Hill Road and Slate Street, I managed to distract Michelle with comments about the hotness of Sabrina and Britanny and she'd be too busy retaliating to notice the short cut past the house.  
But Michelle wasn't nearly as stupid as a lot of people assumed her to be and within a week she'd turned the trick around on to me. Surprisingly, *Michelle* brought up her two least favourite people one windy walk home from school, a short distance before I would have brought up one of her least favourite subjects.  
"Taylor," she said, a smile playing upon her lips. "If I told you something that... not many people know... would you be able to keep it a secret?"  
I shrugged, digging my hands deeper into my pockets. "I guess so. It would depend what kind of secret it was. I mean, if it were abuse, or -"  
Michelle groaned. "Taylor! Don't go all adult on me!" she snapped, before turning on the charm again. "I mean, sure, it's the kind of secret *I* hate," she said, waving her arms about in front of her, "But I think you'd like it."  
I rolled my eyes. "What is it?"  
"It's about Brittany Simpson," Michelle said slowly.  
My heart started to beat faster. "What about Britanny Simpson?" I asked, managing to retain some semblance of calm.  
"I was in the girls' toilets today when I heard her and Sabrina coming in to fix up their... makeup," Michelle began in distaste. "They always talk about boys in there, as though they're in high school or something. Anyway, you wouldn't believe whose name came up today!"  
I gulped. "Whose?"  
"Who do you think?" Michelle asked, becoming irritated. "Yours! Brittany was saying she thought you were looking really cute lately and that if you only grew another couple of inches she'd consider dating you." Michelle sighed. "She's so shallow."  
Another couple of inches? I couldn't control my growth! All the same, Brittany thought I was cute. Me! Cute! "That's all," I said, trying to sound calm.  
"Yeah," Michelle nodded. "Actually, no! She also said she has a thing for piano players and than her favourite band is the Beatles."  
"And Brittany Simpson actually really likes... me?" I squeaked, thinking of her full lips and big eyes.  
Michelle turned to me and smiled. "No!" she said. She gestured around. "But look where we are!" Burnt Hill Road. "And people say you're the smart one, Taylor! But here we are, on Burnt Hill Road! I guess when it comes down to it you're just controlled by your hormones like every other guy!"  
"I think I recall you saying that we didn't *have* emerging hormones the other day," I said bitterly, trying to distract her so that she wouldn't make us stop outside the house.  
"Well, I don't - and I hoped you didn't - but it seems you do," Michelle said regretfully.  
We were almost past the house. Just one more infuriating comment and we'd be safe. "Oh, I think you do," I teased. "I've seen the looks exchanged between you and Aaron Denver..." Comments based on truth were always more infuriating. I'd seen Aaron staring at Michelle in the cafeteria, and chances were she had too.  
Michelle was aghast. "I *never* look at that lame -" she began furiously.  
"Yoo hoo! Taylor! Michelle!" A high-pitched, sing-song voice called to us from the direction of The House. Felicia.  
I looked at Michelle and pleaded with my eyes. But after the Aaron Denver comment Michelle was not in a charitable mood. "Oh hello Felicia!" she replied, equally cheerful to the old woman. "We didn't see you!"  
I reluctantly turned around to see Felicia knelt in her front garden. I lifted my hand as a greeting. "Hi."  
"Hello darlings. On your way home from school again?" Felicia asked, standing up and brushing the dirt from her pink paisley dress.  
"As always," I replied, smiling weakly.  
"Would you like to come in?" she asked, holding onto her straw hat as she made her way over to the rotting grey picket fence. "Ski-" she paused. "Skylar's here this afternoon and he's really been looking forward to seeing the two of you. And I can fix up some brownies... that is of course unless your parents think it might make you gain weight," she added, chuckling to herself as though there was some sort of private joke.  
"Of course," Michelle said eagerly. She'd already began her walk over to the fence. "I've been looking forward to seeing you again too..." I reluctantly followed her, keeping a smile plastered to my face.  
Once again Felicia led us into the house. This was getting to be a bit of a joke. We were trained from birth about 'stranger danger' - a century ago it was safe to play anywhere, 50 years ago it was almost safe in small towns and country areas, now you weren't supposed to go anywhere - and here we were, visiting weird old people we'd never met before. And they lived in a house which had probably had psychopaths as the previous occupants. And we hadn't told our parents a word of it. If they wanted to, these people could lock us up in an attic for two years and our parents would probably never know what had happened to us. And yet we continued to visit them. All because Michelle had some inexplicable need to punish me.  
Once again Felicia led us through the winding hallways, the floorboards creaking as we walked. If we were to try to sneak out there was no way they wouldn't hear us. It was dim, with no natural light, and I could smell the faint scent of dust. When we reached what I remembered to be the sitting room, Felicia pushed open the door. It also creaked. "Skylar..." she called sweetly. "Guess who's come to visit us again?"  
"The... children," a distinctly low-pitched reply came from the room.  
"That's right!" Felicia said, opening the door so that we could enter.  
Skylar's eyes lit up as he seemed to devour us. "Hello..." he said softly. "Michelle... Taylor..."  
"Hi," Michelle and I said in unison.  
"Taylor and Michelle decided to drop in to visit us again on the way home from school," Felicia continued, pushing us further into the room. She led us over to an antique blue lounge chair which stood out from the red colour scheme of the rest of the room. "Sit down."  
I did so immediately, Michelle slightly more leisurely.  
Skylar stared at us for a few seconds, swinging gently on the rocking chair, before he spoke again. "I missed you the last time you came," he said. "If I'd known you were here I would have come up to eat... with... you. But," he threw Felicia a nasty look. "My wife didn't inform me."  
If only she hadn't informed him this time. "That's a shame," I said softly.  
There was a lengthy silence. "So!" Felicia said brightly. "How was your day?"  
"I got an-" I began to tell them about my English Literature test.  
Michelle interrupted. "Taylor's been the biggest brat lately," she said loudly. "He's been trying to stop me from coming to see you - that's why it's been so long since we've visited." I looked at her in horror.  
Skylar frowned. "Now why on earth would he want to do that?"  
Felicia sighed. "Now that makes me sad," she said, wiping her eyes even though there were no tears in them. "But," she said almost brightly, "I suppose Taylor doesn't understand what it's like to come to a strange town after losing all your children. And to find children who remind you so much...." She trailed off, embarrassed.  
"It's not that I didn't want to visit!" I protested. I had to get myself out of this somehow. If I didn't, who knew *what* these people might do? "It's just that... my parents..."  
Skylar's eyes flashed. "What about your parents?" he asked suspiciously. "Did they tell you lies about us?"  
"No no," I said. "We haven't told our parents about this. If we had they would have..."  
"... Killed us," Michelle said nervously.  
Felicia was horrified.  
"Not literally," I said quickly. "They just have strict rules about us not talking to strangers. If they knew we were going into the *houses* of strangers..."  
Felicia looked sad for a few moments, then laughed. "Is there anything your parents *don't* have rules about?"  
Skylar shot her a look that silenced her. "So..." he said. "You get along well with your parents, I presume?"  
"Pretty much," I shrugged.  
"Pretty much," Skylar repeated thoughtfully. He looked at us carefully, almost penetrating our souls. I wanted to look away, but I didn't want him to know I knew what he was doing. "Pretty much," he chuckled. "I have to say... I'm sensing that there's some sort of... tension... in your family."  
"There's no tension in our family," I said quickly, as Michelle shifted nervously on our seat.  
"Why don't you let Michelle contribute?" Skylar asked snappishly. "Michelle?" he asked more sweetly.  
Michelle looked troubled. "I don't know... We don't really have any problems."  
"No problems..." Skylar repeated doubtfully. "Are you sure?"  
Michelle nodded meekly.  
"Positive?" Skylar pressed.  
Felicia was beginning to look uneasy. "Skylar! If Michelle says there are no problems, there mustn't *be* any. Don't bother the poor girl."  
Skylar shrugged. "Okay. I won't push it," he said. He paused again, looking scrupulously at us. "But remember Michelle - and you too Taylor - parents don't always love their children unconditionally. Even in the most perfect of families there can be underlying tension and conflicts. Some parents don't even love their children at all - their children might remind them of their own problems. Make sure your parents aren't those sort of parents."  
There was a silence. "You know what?" Michelle said. "I feel sick. Maybe we should leave...."  
"Maybe we should," I agreed.  
Felicia looked upset. "Okay then... if you think that would be the best idea..." she said, standing up and leading us back out the door, through the musky hallways and out of the house.  
Once again we were standing outside, dazed and confused. "Thanks for that Michelle," I said bitterly.  
"Any time!" she grinned. 


End file.
